Next Moves
by MsSully
Summary: My take on the space between the time Michael and Fi meet at the prison door and when they meet up with the team later the next day.
1. Chapter 1

It's been awhile since I've done this. I was moved to fill in the space between the time they picked up Fi and got back to the loft.

Next Moves

They remain there. The world swirling around them. Unaware of where they were or who was watching. He buried his head into her shoulder. Something his mother has fought not more than 2 hours ago. She had demanded he leave. He had told that Jesse and Sam would be heading to Allarod to get Fi.

The words pierced her lips like a poison, "Get your prize. It cost me my son."

As they stood there, Michael whispered, "Nate died. It's my fault." The words took Fi's breathe away. She held him tighter. She felt her tears form at the same moment she felt his fall on to her shoulder. She thought that holding him like that would make all the horrible things disappear for a minute.

They broke apart at the same time. Hand in hand they met Sam and Jesse. Jesse dove in for a hug. "It's so great to have you back," Jesse managed. Sam watched. Fiona turned to the man who she had hated 6 years ago, then grew to tolerate, then love as much as any of her brothers. With an "aw shuck" kick of his foot, he held his arms out. Fiona nearly jumped into his arms. She hugged Sam almost as hard as Michael. She knew that Michael must have kicked his ass about letting her turn herself in. Never before had the four of them been so much on the same page.

Sam drove back to the loft. Little was said. Michael and Fi sat in the back of the Charger. Michael's one arm wrapped around Fi's shoulder and gently rubbed the scar from the gun shot wound. His other hand was entwined in Fiona's. She rubbed his palm with her thumb. Her other hand held on to his forearm wrapped around her shoulder. Michael kissed the back of her head. Fiona kissed the palm of his hand. No words were spoken between them.

Jesse began to review what had happened to Nate. Michael looked out the window as Jesse described the scene as if it was part of the report he had given to the CIA. And Sam drove. Fiona looked out the other window and tears fell.

When they got to the loft, Sam and Jesse volunteered to go look in on Maddie. "Brave," thought Fi. "She'll never forgive." Michael and Fiona remained in the car until well after the gate had been closed and locked. Silent tears paralyzed them. Finally, Fiona managed, "We should go in. It's getting dark." They walked up the stairs to the loft. Michael unlocked the door to their home. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. Michael walked over to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

"This is my fault. All of it. All the compromise I have asked of you, Sam, Jesse, Mom and Nate. All he ever wanted to do was prove himself to me. You should have seen his eyes when I walked up to him holding Anson. He was so proud. He had helped ME. Then that bullet ripped through him." Michael began pacing the room like a caged, angry tiger. "Do you know what he said to me as he died? I'm scared. Do you know how many times I heard him say that to me as a kid? And I couldn't protect him. I couldn't stop this. She has every right to hate me. I hate myself."

Fiona sat on the end of the bed understanding completely how he felt. She was well acquainted with the white, hot hate of this loss. That hate made many decisions for her. It had led her to the IRA. It had made friends with the like of Thomas O'Neill and Armand. It took meeting Michael McBride to learn to forgive herself. It took the emptiness of their bed when he left to know what the absence of love was like. But, she was older now. She knew far more about her love than she ever did before. That he never intended to leave her then and now. That the things that they had in common: sacrifice, loyalty were forever.

Fi began to think about what needed to be done. He leaned into the kitchen bar and held his head down. She walked behind him and wrapped her arms him. She pressed her body into his. "We need to leave here to think. Nothing will be accomplished here. It's too close, Michael. We know how to grieve for Nate. We know what needs to be done. We need space to think. I'm getting a bag together." Fiona went to the back of the loft and pulled together clothes and weapons. He was still in the same position, frozen in the moment. "Let's go." And Fiona led Michael out of the loft in the Miami night.


	2. Chapter 2

This will not be a long story. I have a goal to start small then get better. I changed the rating too. I decided to leave something to your imagination.

Next Moves Chapter 2

Fiona drove out of Coconut Grove and headed north. She knew of a motel in just before Bal Harbor. She had seen it from the road during driving back from a gun deal she had done. It looked relative new. A monument to the ever-changing landscape of Miami. Michael sat shot gun looking out the window.

About fifteen minutes into the trip, she saw that his eyes where closed. Anyone else might have thought he had fallen asleep. Fiona knew better. She knew he had begun to channel his anger. His breathing had become more focused. Someone might say it was relaxed. She knew better. They did not talk. Someone might have thought the lack of communication indicated a problem. For them, it was the opposite. They were deep in thought. The same thoughts. As Fiona drove, she left one hand on the steering wheel. The other slide beside her on the seat. Soon, Michael's hand found it. It was the most intimate moment that either had ever shared. They said nothing, yet they were completely bound together. It was a connection that heaven or earth would never separate.

They arrived at the Tides Motel right before sunset. Fiona went in to get a room. She wanted one facing the water. She needed the sound of the waves to maintain her focus. When she came out, Michael had disappeared. She knew exactly where he went. She brought their things to the room and saw him sitting on the beach looking out at the ocean wanting answers.

Fiona joined him. They said very little. He had taken his shoes off and was sitting in the sand. Fi let the warm breezes wash over her, cleansing her body and soul. Michael took her hand. "You must be hungry. When was the last time you really ate?" Michael asked. "It must have been before. I really can't remember when." He got up and took her hand. Beside the motel was a greasy dive of a Chinese restaurant. Under normal circumstances, they would've picked a place that was more their style. They ordered, paid with cash and walked back to the room, shoes and food in hand.

They sat down and quietly removed the food from the bags. Fi took out a piece of paper and pencil. "Michael, from the beginning of the operation, I want to know what happened. You need to give me a report." He took a deep breath. Fi was all business. She knew he need to tell her. He needed her ability to listen to him. To watch for the spaces in the story. The between the lines. As Michael reported, Fiona drew. She was sketching the operation. During her time in prison, Michael had found her drawings hidden under the bed. Some were illustrations of planned operations. The most beautiful were of Ireland. Rolling hills. He had found her portrait work too. Pictures of him, of his mother, Sam. And of a young girl of 12. Curly haired with a bright smile. Features that reminded him of Fiona, but less guarded and more innocent. Claire.

As she drew, he told the story of his brother's death. She was forcing him to detach. He became fixated on her actions. After he finished his report. Fiona began to ask him questions. "Who do you think is involved? Who would be the first person? Who should you not trust? Do you think the agency could have been involved? What did Anson know?" Her last question was purely rhetorical.

Michael bowed his head. "I sent him away. I never should have done that. I was furious that he could blow the operation. I never taught him what to do. I sent him on a mission he was never prepared for."

Fiona stood up and moved between Michael and the table. His head leaned into to her stomach. She began running her fingers through his hair. "She was 5 years younger than I. Ya know Michael, she was the daughter my ma always wanted. Pretty and girly. Curly haired. She was a little princess, that one, me ma would say. I was a ruffian. Always running with my brothers. Always beatin' up some poor innocent. Always stakin' a claim and never letting go. I ran with such a gang. Me ma thought I would be no good. And my temper. I know, you thin' that you know my moods, but gawd they were terrible." Fiona took a long breath. "The day she died, we fought. I was in a foul mood. I screamed at her. She left crying with her girlfriends. What a bitch I was. Me ma said I was the most horrible sister in the world. I stewed in our bedroom and had a change of heart. I decided to make her favorite. I really didn't know what else to do. While me ma was out I made this gawd awful bread pudding me ma would make. I was in the kitchen when I heard the shots. You know that feelin' when you know that a bullet has met it intended target. The first time I felt it was the bullet that struck me sister."

Michael wrapped his arms around Fiona's waist, listening to the story he only knew from a file. "The days after were awash. Me ma blamed me. I had fought with Claire. I had been the one who had sent her away cryin'. She wouldn't talk to me. If walked in a room, she left. No words I spoke would bring back Claire. So, I left to get my revenge. I left to be redeemed."

Michael stood up and looked into Fiona's eyes. "Michael, I found revenge. I killed the man who shot my sister. And I left the army on that day. I only found redemption with you. Every time we do something with meaning. Then I know Claire is proud."

On the table was a picture of Nate Westen, smiling.


End file.
